


cure his heart

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Riding Crops, Rough Sex, Wet Dream, because that's what's happening to me rn, u ever start listing tags and realize the number of sins u committed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ It is a joyous pain, an aching pleasure, and he cannot bring himself to stop even if he wanted to.” Or: Garrosh dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cure his heart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired firstly by the cover of the warcrimes book because really, what were they expecting with that, and secondly by the following song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLQzaLr1enE
> 
> also the dubious consent tag is mostly there as a precautionary, but given the context it's not really dubcon? anyway it's tagged just in case
> 
> anyway I'm going to hell and ur all going w/ me :)

This is how it starts:

Sylvanas, riding crop in her hand, and Garrosh in chains, she, Thrall, Jaina, and Varian clustered with him in a separate room to decide his fate. No one is sure why she starts, she just does, leaving hot red welts on his back with the riding crop, and once she hits too low, hits the small of his back, and his grunts of pain turn to a single surprised gasp, a soft moan that was never meant to leave his mouth. His face and ears flush dark with shame, and all eyes on him now, Sylvanas doesn’t stop, her instrument striking him more slowly, more deliberately, again and again until his moans are loud and long, streaming out his open mouth. His thickening erection starts straining visibly against his trousers, and a blush now travels the length of his body, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin along with it.

Jaina approaches him slowly, blue eyes bright in the dimly lit room and sharp enough to pierce right through him. She runs her fingers down the length of his shaft, lightly at first, but slowly becoming braver and hardening her grip around it through the cloth. He starts bucking into her hand, pulling futilely on the chains that bind him to the floor and ceiling. He can’t seem to control himself, can’t seem to stop, just endlessly moving his hips in time with her hand and moaning all the while, muffled between bitten lips and a mouth clamped shut.

Jaina only takes her hand away briefly to begin to undo his belt buckle and peel off the leather sticking to his sweat-damp skin, but even this seems to be too much, Garrosh growling only for it to turn into a frustrated whine, pulling hard on the chains to try and close the distance between them. It makes no difference, and Sylvanas snickers at him for trying, embarrassment reddening his face once again. Jaina manages to get his pants undone, hardened cock springing forth now that nothing held it back. The air is cool on the now-exposed skin, a small chill trickling up his spine as she works his pants down past his hips. She can’t get them past a certain point on his thighs, legs spread too far by the chains and thighs too thick. The hem sits about halfway down them, his cock and ass completely uncovered.

The sorceress runs the tip of her finger up the length of his shaft, maddeningly delicate when before her grip was becoming rough enough to bruise. After a moment or so of doing this, watching him tremble under her touch with a hungry leer, her fingers wrap around it once more and she’s met with a sharp inhale from Garrosh. Sylvanas, however, shows no such restraint or gentleness, going at him again with the riding crop, and striking at the now-exposed flesh. He hisses, jerking forward with each hit and unwittingly thrusting into Jaina’s palm. It is a joyous pain, an aching pleasure, and he cannot bring himself to stop even if he wanted to.

Sylvanas abandons the riding crop, cupping his ass with her long, spidery fingers and digging them into the stinging welts she’s left behind. He barely swallows down a groan, stubbornly trying to cling to the tattered remains of his dignity. It proves fruitless however when Sylvanas and Jaina begin to work in tandem, Sylvanas kneading his ass, spreading it apart and fingertips skirting the edge of his asshole, and Jaina stroking his shaft, grasping and working his balls in her other hand.

Sylvanas’ hands leave momentarily, skin left tender and cold with her touch no longer there, but she comes back just as quickly. Something happens that he cannot see, there’s a rustle of movement behind him but he cannot turn his head far enough to look, nor can he really turn his head to begin with, Jaina keeping him in place with just a look from under hooded eyelids. When Sylvanas returns, far too swiftly and with far too little time, gloves now cover her hands, leather he thinks but it’s difficult to tell past the cool, gel substance on her fingertips as they twirl around the puckered entrance. His heart leaps into his throat, pounding hard as one of them slips right inside, gently intruding as another one slips in just behind. He trembles under their combined efforts, unable to form a single thought, and soon there is a certain warmth coiling at the base of his spine, pulsing in time with Jaina’s grasp and Sylvanas’ fingers. When he finally comes, he is a shuddering mess, breath short and uneven and cries desperate.

He is hardly given any pause when they leave him, only to be replaced by Thrall and Varian. He doesn’t even catch when they do, only that he blinks and suddenly Varian is where Jaina was, Thrall is behind him, like they were always there, but it’s not something he worries about for long because in the next moment Varian takes him into his mouth, something wild flashing in his eyes. It’s far too soon, and every nerve in his body is lit up, screamingly oversensitive. Varian swirls his tongue around the head, taking his time to work down to the base of his shaft. The king’s hands grip his thighs tight, thumbs pressed to the inside and trailing little circles there. It’s such a jarring change to his previous treatment, the comparatively light, delicate touch sparking just enough sensation to arouse him once more, but not enough to appease, maddeningly so. He can’t stop writhing under Varian’s hands, nor can he leave his gaze, the man looking half-feral, grey eyes silver in the dim light, and trembling with restraint as he leers at him hungrily.

He is reminded abruptly that Thrall is there as well when suddenly there is another set of hands on him, grasping his hips with thick, calloused fingers and roving greedily all around them and across to the small of his back. Garrosh cannot bring himself to admit the sheer amount of anticipation that follows, breath caught in his throat until Thrall finally reaches the searing welts that Sylvanas had left behind. He is no gentler than she was, handling the tender wounds roughly, pain shooting through him again alongside a misplaced thrill.

He doesn’t hear anything change, again, just the rapturous sounds coming out of his own mouth, but now there is a heated weight pressed against the seam of his ass, Thrall growling and grinding his dick against him. This is brief, however, as Thrall then proceeds to push it into him inch by inch. It slips in easily, still pliant from Sylvanas, but it still seems hazy, still seems like it happened too easily. This, too, is forgotten in the face of Thrall fucking him, building up speed and gripping his waist so tightly that his claws break skin and Garrosh can feel bruises forming right this moment. Not to be outdone, Varian swallows his length whole, lips meeting his belly, and the tight, wet warmth of his mouth is there for only a moment before Varian draws back again. He does this again, swallows him up, over and over and over, and between him and Thrall, Garrosh can’t think past this, can’t think at all.

Thrall slows for a moment or two, the sudden lack leaving Garrosh squirming, and draws up one of his hands to press to Garrosh’s collarbone. The nails dig in just slightly, little pinpricks of sensation hardly noticed as Varian continues to devour him, relentless, but he notices when those nails are dragged up this throat to just under his jaw, tiny dark lines left in their wake. He is acutely aware of his pulse throbbing under Thrall’s palm, even more so when it presses closer and his breath stutters in his throat. Thrall growls, picking up speed again as he slams his hips into Garrosh and hits a spot that sends fire streaking through his blood, choking as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

These two are noticeably more possessive than Jaina or Sylvanas were, the previous merely toying with him, and Thrall and Varian laying claim to him, both punishing and marking him as their own at once. Varian’s restraint has finally burnt out, it seems, and Thrall hardly having any in the first place, the two of them taking what is theirs. They push him to the brink and beyond, the coil of heat in his belly rising and rising and rising until it finally _bursts_ , and-

Garrosh wakes with a start in his own bed.

Sweat covers his skin and his body still thrums, blood singing in his veins and erection throbbing and thick under the fur covers. Moonlight streams in through the open window, the air cool enough to warrant the furs despite Durotar’s arid climate, yet still he finds himself overheated. Frustrated embarrassment sparks up quick, but the shame is not enough to dampen the desire still rushing through him. He doubts he’ll be able to fall back asleep like this. He looks towards the door to his chambers. Maybe if he’s quiet. Maybe if he’s quick.

It is far too easy to convince himself that it’s alright, practically ravenous with want, and he still finds the leering gazes of those who had tormented him in his dreams waiting for him underneath his eyelids when he closes them and brings himself to completion. No one need know about this, especially with how bizarre a reason he had been chained in the dream in the first place, lewdness aside. Really, though, dredging up the remains of an old god for his own use? What an absurd thought. That was no better than the warlocks and their fel magic.

 


End file.
